


In Between the Chain-Links

by Killaway



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Torture, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Jon Snow Knows Something, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission, Physical Abuse, Poor Theon, Psychological Torture, Ramsay is His Own Warning, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 00:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18419324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killaway/pseuds/Killaway
Summary: Everytime Ramsay glances at his eyes, something stops him. It's intriguing and frustrating. And he can't figure out what it means.Everytime Ramsay glares and catches his stare, it causes him to reel back. Catching himself as all thoughts of hurting the male fades away."Don't look him in the eyes" Ramsay tells himself.But, he can't help but look, because that look is so intense and grounding.He doesn't want to leave it.





	In Between the Chain-Links

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Please don't read if your triggered by pain, physical abuse, and neglect. Ramsay is a horrible person and I do have him in character with finding satisfaction in hurting others. He's a violent, sadistic, and abusive character.  
> But, if you do read, I also write him as a slow to care person, who takes care of Theon after what he does. Albeit, he's still a horridly abusive character, but he has his moments. 
> 
> This is a story about abuse, and how it affects the person getting abused. Stockholm syndrome, I suppose. 
> 
> This isn't a story for everyone.
> 
> But, please do enjoy.

Theon was an interesting development, which Ramsay admitted that he was considering letting go. The boy was pitiful and weak, two traits Ramsay relished. He watched Theon, head down, long hair hiding his broken features.

It's been only a few days since the Greyjoy’s return to his rightful place, after Ramsay let go his ruse. And yet, he looked broken already. Ramsay clicked his tongue, which startled Theon, whom winced. Standing, he stepped deliberately, the small flaying knife twirling between his fingers. Theon was his latest toy, something he could make beautiful.

“Something's missing.” Ramsay mumbled, cold eyes tracing each small healing scar on Theon’s body. “There.” He gently lifted Theon’s face to look at his own, he saw the disgust and fear in those voids filled with oceans.

The knife dug into the skin under the male's chin, forcing drops of blood to trail down the blade, shimmering in the candlelight. Theon said nothing, although his jaw was visibly clenched, biting back his words.

_Smart boy._

“Boltons. The Flayed Man.” Ramsay smirked, Theon’s eyes darted to the hand holding the knife, then back to Ramsay. “Not that that's not been a fun endeavor I've participated in.” He stated lightly, dropping the blade, and raising his empty hand to brush Theon’s cheek. Theon winced away, and even attempted to bite Ramsay's gloved hand.

_Maybe not that smart._

Ramsay slapped the boy, before gripping his face hard, forcing Theon to look at him.

“Be a good boy for me. And maybe you'll get your _happy ending_. “ He released, watching the boy carefully.  Theon continued to be silent, and turned his head away, hair falling in his eyes. Ramsay let out a breath, stepping back, before falling into thought. “Perhaps, I've been going about this in the wrong direction.” He smiled smugly, as Theon’s eyes widened hopefully. “How'd you like to be released from your binding and allowed to roam this chamber?”

“Yes! Please!” Theon tugged at the leather binding his wrists above him.

“Ah, only if you're a good boy.” Ramsay loved as the flames of hope died in Theon's eyes, his words extinguishing them with ice. He stepped back up to the boy, then removed a glove, and placed the knife down. His bare hand pressed against Theon’s exposed neck, nails digging, he pressed forcibly causing bruises. “You'll be _my_ good boy, and I promise I'll shower you with prizes.” The Greyjoy whimpered, but nodded. “Good, good.”

Ramsay moved his hand to Theon's face, brushed away his overgrown hair, allowing his fingers to get tangled in the unkempt locks. He tugged tightly, forcing down Theon's face. Ramsey pressed a light kiss to the boy's forehead, and mumbled soft nothings. The boy reacted accordingly, relaxing in Ramsay's touch, breathing becoming slowed.

Ramsay smiled, before retreating back to his seat in the corner.

“I shall call you Reek. Matches the rotting smell your wafting from my, endeavors.” Theon's brows knitted together, voice horse.

“That's no-”

“Ah. What did I say?” Ramsey interrupted, gesturing to the assortment of weapons and tools at his disposal to use at his pleasure. Which stopped The- Reek in his tracks. However, this open display of rebuke wasn't going to brushed off so easily.

Ramsay stood, stepping up to the table, he gently picked up the blade he had come to favor, eyes staring at the lingering blood. The crimson was ugly, a color Ramsay had come to hate. So it was unfortunate it was associated with wounds and pain.

Now, Ramsay had never considered pain itself something evil, pain could easily be inflicted for pleasure. Torture on the other hand, that was a necessity in a time of war. Besides, wasn't within his duty as a Bolten to inflict it?

Perhaps Ramsay could have another do this work, allowing him to deal with more pressing matters. But, he was a bastard after all.

Finding his way back to the person watching him with a stare.

_Those eyes._

Iced over and intense. It sent a shiver up Ramsay's spine. So, to counter the emotions those eyes were glaring into Ramsay's skin, he promptly placed the edge of the blade into Theon's cheek. He didn't add pressure, just watching for the males next move. Theon's breathing became shallow, eyes clenching tight in anticipation of the pain.

_It never came._

Ramsay gave out a breath, cursing softly. Theon's opened his eyes, only to watch his captor slam down the knife onto the table of objects, then stormed out the door.

Theon was left there for  _ three days. _

After the first day the candles that once lit the room, went out with a flicker, as the wick burnt completely. Leaving Theon in darkness. It was cold and he thought he'd freeze to death, but quickly pushed away the thought since it was still late summer, and the chill was a result of a lack of movement and the open wounds. 

By the second day his stomach was painfully convulsing. He hadn't eaten much in the last week, only the scraps from meals Ramsay sat and ate in front of him. It was enough to keep him alive, but not much else. His groans echoed off the stone walls, mocking him. And he did what he could to relieve the pain, contorting his body as much as he could. 

On the third day he couldn't feel his arms or hands. The hunger pains had subsided, but new ones took its place in the form of painful prickings that ran up his arms. It made him shift uncomfortably, violently as the numbing became worse as the hours passed. 

Sleep wasn't an option, as every time he began to doze off, another shot of pain would startle him awake. Eventually, he had banged his head against the wall behind him in frustration. Which caused him to black out momentarily, his vision refusing to focus on the blackness his eyes had grown accustomed to. When they returned to normal, he was able to feel the dripping of liquid that fell from the new cut he had caused. And it only caused him to sigh, finally just giving up. 

If he was to die here for his fuck ups, then who was he to deny the Old God's?

 

Ramsay returned on the fourth day, unlocking the door, and stepping inside. Theon's head whipped up at the noise, causing him to become dizzy at the movement. His icy eyes focused on the Bolten, who watched him with a blank face. The light from Ramsay's hand made Theon look at what it was. It was hard to see at first, his eyes dilating to the new light source, but then he saw a candle lighter. The long waxed stick was burning in front of a cupped hand. Ramsay gave Theon another look, before moving to each cluster of candles. Lighting the ones still left to light. 

Theon gave a breath at the sight, somehow he didn't expect to be able to see lit candles again. He had expected to never see anything again. After the candles had been lit, Ramsay left again.

And Theon cried at that, a sob that violently gritted it's way up his dry throat. 

“Hush pet, I'm not leaving.” He heard from the door, and he had noted that it was indeed still open. Ramsay re entered, this time with a platter in one hand, and a bucket of water in the other. A satchel had been lazily thrown on his shoulder, as well. He placed the platter on the table, ignoring the tools laid out on it. Then, Ramsay grabbed a chair, dragging it without caring it was making a horrid sound against the stone, over to Theon. He dropped the chair, then placed the bucket down. His eyes then caught sight of Theon's. They lingered momentarily, very much aware of the lingering relief within them. 

His next move scared Theon greatly. Ramsay kneeled down and undid the bindes on Theon's ankles. Ramsay quickly grabbed either side of Theon's waist, holding him up, so his wrist weren't solely holding up his entire weight. 

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” Ramsay ordered, and Theon complied, doing as told. One of Ramsay's arms came down to hold the males weight against him. While the other grabbed the key from around his neck, then reached up to unlock the shackles that bound his wrist. Once unlocked Theon's body slumped, held up only by Ramsay grasp. He held the male close, then eased him onto the chair. Theon's head fell forward, then lolled backward. His hair a mess, eyes heavy lidded, but staring intensely. 

_ Again that look. _

It didn't quite set Ramsay on edge, nor was it intimating in the slightest. Not to the Bolten. No. But, it did do something to Ramsay, something he couldn't place. Pity maybe? 

_ No, not pity. _

Ramsay kneeled down again, breaking himself from his thoughts, he had things to do. He wasn't going to make Reek wait for him again. So, he reached into the satchel and pulled out a medicine rag. It was for cleaning wounds and cuts. But first, it was to bathe the male in front of him. Tugging the bucket closer, he dipped the fabric in, then pulled out and rung the water. The dripping sounds were all that could be heard. 

Theon kept his eyes fixed on Ramsay. He's dead silent, going about his actions with a fit of determination in his movements. When Ramsay raised the rag up to Theon's skin it was cold, and caused Theon to wince back. 

“It  _ was _ warm.” Ramsay muttered, annoyed, before his other hand claimed Theon's waist, holding him still. Ramsay cleaned the sweat and dirt from Theon. Methodically cleaning the rag once it was caked in grime. Eventually, he got to the wounds. Some we're still open, others had opened back up from the unexpected movements. But, Ramsay cleaned away the blood, before dropping the rag entirely into the bucket. Retrieving something else from his bag. 

“Why?” Theon finally choked out, voice raspy due to its lack of use. Ramsay looked up, hand clenching where it rested on his waist.

“You had your punishment for refusal of your name. I had also promised your release of the chains.” Ramsay explained, returning back to what lay in his hand. Herbs. Many Theon did recognize, but he couldn't place the names. “Winterfell is good for it's gardens.” Ramsay spoke, before placing the herbs within his mouth. He chewed momentarily, before he opened his mouth and removed the wad. It clumped together, and Theon knew that it was a healing balm. 

Pain swelled up as Ramsay rubbed a little of the balm into each of Theon's wounds. He groaned and winced away, but Ramsay ignored his cries, to intent on his actions. Once done, Theon relaxed, and began to feel both its effects begin, and feeling start to return to his arms and feet. He bent his fingers, as the needle like pain began to subside. 

Ramsay watched him. Watch the strength slowly return to the male. He was quiet, keeping talking to a minimum. After a moment, he turned and stood. Grabbing the platter from off the table, then placing it in Theon's lap.

It was filled with food, and a goblet of water. Theon stared at the dried meats and baked goods. A hearty soup lay in a small bowl, next to a small assortment of cheeses. This was food for Lord's, not a prisoner. Theon glanced up, weary of eating, although his stomach began to convulse at the smells. 

“Eat.” Ramsay ordered, voice small. “It's not poisoned. It's all from my own dinner yesterday. I ate everything you've got.” Theon looked down at the platter again. He was worried, afraid Ramsay was lying, but his stomach was growing louder and more painful the more he stalled. 

Taking a deep breath, Theon picked at a strip of dried meat. He tore a bit off, then placed it in his mouth. The flavor soaked into his tongue. 

“Elk.” He absent-mindedly noted. It reminded him of his meals with Rob. The Stark was always smuggling food from dinners and sharing with Theon. He finished his bite with a dry swallow. 

Ramsay had taken to leaning against the wall. And Theon glanced up at him as he began to indulge in the food. He ate the soup first. The broth warming him after three nights in the cold. Then he moved on to the sweets. Theon couldn't remember the last he had of something sweet, before the war most definitely. Before all of this, but here. At Winterfell. 

When the majority of the food was gone, only small bits of cheese and meat were left, Ramsay pushed himself off the wall. Once more reaching into his bag, he pulled out a brush. The black horse hair evenly placed, against black wood. Ramsay contemplated for a few seconds, inspecting the object. 

Eventually, Ramsay decided against whatever it was he was thinking, instead moving to stand behind Theon and the chair. Theon tensed, as one of Ramsay's hands began to comb through the knots of his hair. 

“Relax. I just want to fix this raven's nest you call hair.” Theon nodded, attempting to relax and calm down. Ramsay hadn't done anything to him, yet his presence itself was beginning to become frightening. 

Ramsay brushed through his hair with gentle strokes, and Theon wondered where this gentleness was before. And why he was receiving it now? But, the unanswered question was quickly forgotten when Ramsay spoke. 

“I've been thinking,” His voice had regained some of that sinister edge to it, but it wasn't at the forefront, “perhaps you'd prefer the comforts of my chambers.” 

Chambers? Which room had the Bolten taken as his own? Lady and Lord Stark's? Or maybe Rob's? Theon was hesitant to know. 

“Well?” Ramsay asked, fingers clenching at his hair, before releasing, in a controlled annoyance. Theon was meant to respond, but had become caught in his thoughts.

“I-,” Theon wasn't sure what to answer with. He'd much like to get out of this room. It was an old storage room, meant for barrels and crates worth of storage, not a torture chamber. But, he'd still be a prisoner, but closer to Ramsay himself. Yet, he didn't think Ramsay wanted to hear a 'no’. “I suppose.” Theon managed in a whisper. 

Ramsay, satisfied with the answer, returned to brushing through Theon's golden locks. Although the gold shine it once had was dulled by grime that colored it as sand rather than sunlight. Theon loved his hair, perhaps as much as Snow loved his own. 

_ Jon.  _

His body winced at the thought of the male. He hadn't seen nor heard from him since the day the King arrived. At first he had made fun of him from staying away, being the Bastard Stark, but then seeked him out after Rob sent him away at the order of his mother. Theon wasn't a Stark. He was a glorified prisoner. Always has been. 

So he had found an unexpected company from Snow. They jipped at each other, more than was necessary maybe, but it was something Theon could be sure of. There was comfort at not being the only one as an outcast. 

 

_ “The Bastard.” Theon called, gaining Snow's attention.  _

_ “Greyjoy.” Jon had responded, ignoring the insult in favor of continuing to hack at the training dummy in front of him. “Why aren't you with Rob?” Jon asked, glancing upward, his brow raised.  _

_ “Lady Stark requested I leave. She wants to impress the Queen. Apparently my presence is as discontental as yours.” Jon snorted.  _

_ “A Bastard and abandoned child of war.” Theon growled at the words. He wasn't abandoned by his family. _

How näive he was then.

_ “Have you met the Dwarf yet?” Theon spoke, picking up a sword of his own. He stared at the crafting, before giving a few light swings.  _

_ “Aye.” Jon respond. “Rude prick.” Theon smirked. “You're better with a bow.” Jon had paused, eyes watching Theon with mild interest. Theon glanced at him curiously. “Just saying.” _

_ “You've been watching me train?”  _

_ “Aye. Hard to sleep when all I hear is you shooting arrows outside my chambers.” Jon perked, a playful smile on his face. The larger archery range was just outside of a window that looked into the small chambers of the half Stark. It was always empty in the night, the guards favoring the main gate at that time. Theon had many sleepless nights, and took a fondness of the sport.  _

_ Theon processed the information momentarily, before placing the blade back in the pile. And instead moving to pick up a bow and quiver. He pulled an arrow and knocked it. Aimed, then released.  _

It pierced the dummy where it's heart would be. 

_ Jon gave a nod, as if saying he was right. Because he was. Before returning to his own training.  _

_ The two stayed silent and just sat and practiced in the other's company.  _

 

“What's this?” Ramsay spoke, tearing Theon from the memory. How he wished to return to that simpler time. Cold fingers traced over a healing cut that had been torn into Theon's head. It was jagged, and hurt when Ramsay pressed harder. 

Biting his cheek, he moved away from Ramsay's hand, inhaling heavily from the pain. 

“Nothing.” Theon groaned. 

“Don't lie” Ramsay had taken to grip his hand against Theon's hair, pulling him back. “This isn't my work. What did you do?” Theon cried out softly, tears watering up his eyes. Ramsay reasoned silently, releasing his hold, and instead inspecting the damaged area. He pushed back hair to get a closer look. 

Theon felt his long fingers touching the area, gentleness returning. “I didn't think you were coming back.” Theon started, an a small voice. “I got frustrated and tired. Tried to do  _ something. _ ” Was all he answered with. 

“Idiotic. Giving yourself brain damage wasnt going to make me come back any faster.” Ramsay growled, a hand reaching further forward to caress Theon's cheek. He melted into the touch, something Ramsay was really beginning to pick up on. 

_ He's touch starved. _

Ramsay pressed closer, stroking his thumb across Theon's brow, while his other hand combed through his hair. The result of being an almost purring-like sound that resounded from the back of Theon’s throat. It only happened when he open his mouth to breath, but it was enough verification for the Bolten. 

Ramsay allowed this to remain for a moment, before pulling away. 

“The cut will heal on its own. All you managed to do was split it slightly.” His eyes flickered back to the dried blood in Theon's hair, before he continued to work out any knots that remained. When he found none, he paused momentarily and glanced around the room. Theon waited for him to speak or move again, but there was only silence. It unnerved the Greyjoy. 

“Ramsay?” Theon called just above a whisper, as if testing if it would hurt him to say. And when it didn't, he spoke it once more, clearer. 

Ramsay has tensed when he heard Theon speak the first time. He hadn't yet spoke his name, and they way he called out, seeking guidance wasn't what he'd expected. 

“Can you walk?” Ignoring the implications of what Theon wanted, he walked around to face Theon. The male stared up at him in thought. Contemplating if it was possible. And instead if answering, Theon pushed off the chair’s armrests and attempted to stand on his feet. 

At first he fell back into the chair with a grunt, which only seemed to make him annoyed. Trying again, he managed to stay upright. Swaying on his week feet, he held out an arm to lean against the nearest object. His hand pressed on to the wall he'd been chained to. It was cold, but so was the floor against his bare feet. His first step sent him forward more than he wanted. Falling into Ramsay who quickly caught him and stood him back upright. 

And rather than allowing Theon to continue testing his current strength, Ramsay wrapped an arm around Theon's middle, while forcing one of his arms over Ramsay's shoulders. Ramsay led them to the door, opening it with a small kick, then walking them out. 


End file.
